


To Reflect

by D3moira



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Party, Character Study, Crushes, F/M, Fluff, Introspection, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D3moira/pseuds/D3moira
Summary: Daria wanted to spend her birthday, disappointed and alone. Why do people insist there is a better way to spend it? [ Eventual Daria/Trent because I am That Person when it comes to them. ]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my undetermined-in-length story about a birthday, which may or may not edge into territory I've covered before in Daria fanfiction.

"What're you gonna do for your birthday?"

"Become legally a year older."

"As in  _plans_?"

"Reflect over the year wherein I've achieved nothing of note, compounded with the other seventeen or so years of equally wasted time." Daria tilted her head back, enough to catch Jane's eye. "I figure by the age of twenty-five, I'll have enough guilt to implode, if I start now."

"You know it doesn't work like that." Jane drawled, as if unimpressed with her friend's ignorance. "You have to wait till you're forty."

There was silence between them, the fall evening so mild that water would be insulted. It was cool, but not too cool, and dark, but not too dark. Fall was the most relaxed of the seasons, despite the garish marks of Halloween decorations. They would soon decay, pressed against Christmas lights.

Also, it was the season Daria was born in. Or more to the point, the season she'd been told she was associated with. Horoscopes, and star signs, and all that new age, old age adages. There was a magazine lain across her lap, taut with the stories that other people had published. Oh, other people. They had done everything in the world, and Daria had done...

Well, not much.

Or it never felt like much. She had written a few manuscripts, sort of, and they were tucked in binders or in the digital space of her computer. Beyond them were the few poems she wrote, all of which erred on the side of distaste for poetry. No rhymes, and no floral edges.

"Well..."

"What?"

"It's the twenty-sixth, right?" Jane sat down on her bed, hard, enough to impart a cloud of dust into Daria's space. She fluttered her hands at it, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed. "A Saturday?"

"Gosh, I'm only up to ten with my counting."

Jane set her hand onto the bed, her cheek on her shoulder and her eyes fixed down at Daria. There was annoyance, she saw that, but it was no worse than usual. Jane was used to her, in a way few people were.

There was silence, more than Daria expected. She looked down to the magazine, to mark her page with the receipt she'd gotten for her purchase of it. She set it aside, and turned all at once, her arms folded onto the bed, her eyes turned up to Jane.

"What's your idea?" Daria asked, as much eagerness embroidered into her encouragement.

"Glad you asked!" Jane beamed. "Mystik Spiral has a gig a few towns over, about... Gosh, six hours? So, I thought we could go with."

Daria watched, unsure where the rest of the idea was.

"That's it. Mystik Spiral gig. Another town." Jane's voice dropped, conspiratorial and low. "We'd have to stay out there, your parents wouldn't hassle you to have a party at home. Just say you're having one at a Spiral gig, that you're gonna stay the night. They'd never know."

Daria watched, unsure where her parents would bury Jane's body for the idea. Except, it wouldn't be so drastic. She had watched each of her birthdays come into and out of focus, each one unmarked. Her onagainoffagain thing with Tom was off again, and she had been... Okay, a part of her had been curious about how a birthday went when you had a boyfriend.

Instead, she had the incredible pleasure of a failed relationship to add to her birthday retrospection. She dropped her chin lower into the crook of her arms, to obscure her mouth better. She had no energy to smile or laugh, or argue. She instead stared at a new freckle on her forearm, which impeded upon an older freckle.

"No?"

"I guess." Daria shrugged.

"So no?"

Daria rolled her eyes. "I don't know, I thought you had something... More, about me?" The words came out shyer, lost into the meat of her forearm.

"I figured you'd want to get away from your family and your sister." Jane began, her posture dropped. "Plus, I asked Trent, and he said we could get beer. They're getting paid extra for the distance, kinda like an import tax... He was gonna slide us some."

Daria felt her skin go hot, though she couldn't pinpoint why. She had no interest in alcohol. She had never told Jane she wanted to drink, nor did she want to. It might happen, one day, wine at a gallery opening, or a bar, maybe, but not now. The panic showed, enough that Jane had raised her hands.

"It was just an idea."

Daria should reassure Jane, but she couldn't. Instead she shook her head, eyes scrunched, her posture straight now. "I didn't think we were the underage drinking type."

"There's a type?" Jane laughed. "I drink beer, sometimes. Spirits throw me off, they make me think I'd slugged paint thinner."

"I didn't know that."

"You didn't ask." Jane smiled, though it lacked in the usual mirth. "I'm not out getting wasted. I have a beer with the Spiral sometimes, or when Trent gets a few slabs instead of cash. It's not that big a deal. Not to me, anyway. As long as I'm with people I trust, y'know?"

Daria watched Jane, careful attention settled on her face. There was more to the story, but Daria hadn't the words to pry. Words were her specialty, and she was told she could write well. It was a constant source of praise and validation, one of the few she possessed. All those words had been sucker punched out of her nostrils at the idea of Jane and alcohol, which wasn't such an insane concept upon reflection.

"Do I have to drink?"

"Yes, totally." Jane deadpanned, eyebrow raised. "I'm gonna force you to get wasted for your birthday, and hold your hair while you cry. Then we can hobble you home in your heels, and you can cry about a boy you like."

"Sounds great." Daria stood up, to tuck her magazine into her backpack. "I'll ask my mom. I doubt we have plans anyway. Gotta get home for dinner anyway."

"Let me know. Still got a few weeks." Jane left it there, and Daria sent her a smile. It was brief, slight, but enough to relax Jane's knotted posture.

Daria didn't do birthday plans, or plans about herself in general. Plans set expectations, and expectations led to disappointment. There is no notable malice with that thought, aside from the sobriety with which she operated. She liked to be so blunt with her analysis that she wouldn't be left unchecked. It could be linked to Quinn, who was so the opposite of that, but she dismissed that.

Daria refused to be defined as an opposite of Quinn, as it made her feel validated only by her otherness. She could be happy, and attend parties, and make friends, and smile, damn it, but on her own terms. The thought of beer and music a few towns over sent her skin into a crawl, but it was another hurdle. She would be at college in no time, and she needed a thicker skin.

And it was her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. She owed it to herself to try, just once, to have some semblance of a party. Not one that was focused on her with cake and clowns, but she would push herself out of the padded cell she called a room. Or, she would try to do all this, because Jane seemed to think it was a good idea.

"Hey."

Daria pivoted, hands fastened on the straps of her backpack. She had stilled outside of Jane's room and not moved, so trapped in her own mind. Down the hall was Trent, toothbrush at an angle with his belt between his hands. He seemed to be buckling or unbuckling it, but Daria had looked elsewhere. It clanked and sounded, and when it stopped she looked back.

"You stayin' over?"

"No." Daria shot back, eyes narrowed.

"Need a lift then?"

Daria glanced at the dark window, and the answer could only be yes. She had to be home, as she had already screwed up her curfew. She had done so with intent, to ensure her parents would refuse to throw her a party. They would be too mad at her to want to try, and in turn, they wouldn't fail as they did every year. It wasn't personal, and she didn't loathe them for it. They were better at Quinn's idea of a party, rather than Daria's.

Trent had stepped closer, the toothbrush still protruded from the corner of his mouth. She looked him up and down, as if to ask where he'd spit the foam. He smiled, as much as he could around the plastic, and stepped away towards the bathroom. She watched as his hand framed the doorway, and he leaned halfway in to hock the foam into the sink. One leg remained on the ground while the other balanced him out, and he swung back around a moment later.

"I gotta go pick up Monique." Trent explained, the rattle of his keys an unwelcome jingle.

"Make sure you limber up first." Daria followed, her head level and her expression unchanged.

Trent shot her a look, between amused and scandalized.

"If you're going to pick her up, you don't want to pull anything." Daria explained, her tone closer to angry than amused.

"Oh." Trent laughed his smoker's laugh, complimented by the hacked cough. "Good one."

Daria stepped out after Trent, who leaned back to make sure the door was pulled shut. She was caught between him and the hedge, a few sticks dug into her shins and hands. He jangled the keys until he found one that locked the door, and she looked confused.

"Janey's home alone."

Daria wanted to ask why it mattered, but she didn't want to speak. She was sick of the misinformation that sprouted each time she opened her mouth, and how her tone seemed ill-suited. Or rather, her lack of a tone. She spoke with an even voice as best she could, as a result of some early age therapy over her anger towards Quinn.

All part of her scheduled introspection and self-loathing, circa the twenty-sixth of October.

"So you gonna come with to Charlestown?"

Daria shrugged.

"It'd be cool to have you along. Janey gets into less trouble when you're around."

"I'm boring, I get it."

Trent unlocked the car, his hands bracketed on the roof. "Says the girl who drove across the state to bring bail money."

Daria felt her face inch back into hot and now red, her eyebrows furrowed further. She climbed into the car after a long pause, as she considered the walk home. It wasn't too late in the evening, but she was already late for dinner. Her parents would revoke her access to the Lane household altogether if she pushed it. Though with how Jane and Trent acted, she might welcome that.

"You cool?"

Daria shot Trent a look, narrowed eyes obscured by her glasses. The low light made them into discs of white, reflected from the streetlamps.

Trent met her eye, brief but there, a sad smile on his face. He would press her, and she wanted him to ask, but neither broke. She looked away to the floor of the car, chin ducked against her chest. He opened his mouth, a sigh, absent, but coughed instead of spoke.

Daria crossed her arms and sunk further into her seat. The car set into motion beneath her, the rumble of the engine offset by the jerk of the seats. The whole car moved on its own, which was made worse by the engine. She kicked at a burger wrapper, and tried to toe it away from herself.

"Birthdays suck."

Daria felt her insides relax and clench at once, her throat in dry motion as she swallowed back her surprise. "Yeah."

"I think it's cause, like, the media tells you what to expect, y'know? So you grow up, you kinda... You hope you get the big cake, the presents, the friends all standin' around you -- but, you don't." Trent tapped at the wheel, fingers in motion. "That's why you're all pissed, right?"

"I'm not all pissed." Daria parroted back, teeth bared.

"Right." Trent adjusted in his seat, tongue in motion against dry lips. "I'm just saying, as someone who's had a few birthdays, they're... I dunno. My parents didn't do anything for them, uh, and Jane? Jesse and the guys help me celebrate with her, 'cause we're like a little..." Trent paused, to cast a look to her. "Bands are like family. We fight, but we're still there for one another."

"Right." Daria watched the street signs pass by, to spare herself the sight of Trent.

"Jane asked us if we'd do for you what we do for her -- so..."

Daria watched the streetlamps instead, then the mail boxes. She watched them with an intense eye, her lips pushed to a firm point.

"And, we wanna have you there." Trent added, absent as he watched the numbers with Daria.

"Mh."

Trent laughed, as crackled as ever. "A change of scene and music. Jane'll be there, and so'll the Spiral, so -- you do whatever you wanna do, Daria."

The car rolled to a stop, and Daria climbed out. She snapped back a thank you to Trent, who smiled in return. She had been so cautious and shy around him before, but now she only felt annoyed by his assumptions. What she wanted to do for her birthday was to sit in silence with a book, to pretend that she didn't exist. People wanted to give her attention, when it should have been on her work.

Trent's car sped off, and she approached her home, with the vague knowledge that it was either a birthday at home, alone, where Quinn would somehow make it about herself, or a gig with the Lanes. The former was a known pain, wherein she could escape to her room. The latter was... Damn it, she felt the expectations in motion. If she went with them, she would be faced with alcohol, and with Trent.

Daria had enough regrets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so cathartic and strange, as I originally envisioned this as a much smaller story and yet I'm not even at the point I thought I'd write.

"It's so selfish of you to turn down a party."

"Go on." Daria encouraged, her attention set on her broccoli.

"I mean, like, I have to convince mom and dad to let me have the Fashion Club over -- and what, you just get a party, like that?"

Daria smiled at Quinn, or rather, at the idea of Quinn. She had never seen her sister, as her sister had never seen her. There were too many layers between them, some cashmere and some sardonic. She raised an eyebrow at her sister, her blood relative, as if she were an unpleasant smell. The look was returned in kind.

"Now, Quinn, if you want to have a party for your birthday, that's a whole other story." Helen had her attention on her phone, but it would be a surprise to see it anywhere else.

"Can I?"

Helen's lips twitched, as Daria's often did. It was strange to see her mannerism reflected, and even worse to know the source. The twitch followed on Daria's lips, despite herself, her head dipped down. "I'm sure we can make it very special for you."

"It is going to be my sixteenth, so, like, punch, and -- ooh, those little umbrellas? We could do a tiki theme. But, like, as a joke, y'know? I would look so cute in one of those straw skirts."

"Straw is a common theme with you." Daria smiled at the thought of the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz.

"I know, my hair has been so dry lately, I'm trying, okay Daria? Sandi has been on my case about it, and I don't need you telling me it, too!"

The conversation had shifted from Daria's birthday again, as it did each dinner. She had been told they'd have a family dinner, and that Jane could come over. The offer of a larger party circled the table, too, but it wasn't encouraged.

Dinner was scarfed down with as much speed as Daria could muster. The topic of parties and gatherings drew out too much attention, and too much of Quinn. There was less to dislike now that Quinn had seen a tutor and approached school with a better attitude, but she needed more time to ripen.

And Daria had a story upstairs to finish.

The keys clacked away, each a blur as she worked through her ideas. To write about writing always felt like a moot point to Daria. It was something she had done much as a child, as much as she had read, and she couldn't understand how others functioned without it.

There were long periods of time where she would remain quiet, her mind in boundless directions and ideas, each too cliche or contrived to chase. She would get wrapped up in the theories and concepts, and do her best to pour out whatever life she had into the clunky computer.

The problem is that Daria is good with her words, when they're pointed, or when they're at arms' reach. A birthday required her to be face to face with people, who might not show up to the party at all. If people came, it would be hard to deal with.

If people didn't come...

Daria can't deal with the pressure either way. She understood mortality, and that she would die, and that she would get older, but she hated the circular way that attention would crash onto her each year.

"Daria?"

"That's the name you gave me, yes." Daria turned, eyebrow raised.

Helen had her attention on Daria, and no phone in sight. She didn't say anything further, her eyebrow raised in return.

"Um, yeah mom?"

"You do want a party, don't you?" She had her hands on her hips, her expression severe.

"Not really, no." Daria crossed her arms, her hands framed on her biceps. Or, lack thereof.

"Why not?"

Daria felt a streak of anger through her, but she was too sad to take it out on her mother. Or maybe it was that fabled disappointment, where she was neither sad nor mad. She was just... Done. "Because it ends up as an excuse for Quinn to have a party, and I don't have an interest."

"You'll be eighteen, Daria."

"I pretty much am eighteen right now, mathematically speaking." Her attention shifted back to her computer, bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Look, I don't want a bunch of people around me, lying to me, to themselves."

Helen hung by the door, her expression now sloped at the sides. She seemed older, sadder now, and the uncertainty formed. It was the look she got when Daria went out of her way to be antisocial, or to isolate herself.

It made her want to be even further isolated.

"And -- " Daria pushed on, as she sent a vague smile to her mother, as reassurance. "Um, Jane invited me to a Mystik Spiral show, so... I figured, if I went out, I could save you the hassle of a party and cleaning."

"Oh, that isn't a hassle, you know that Daria." But it was, every time, and Daria was told each time how much work and money had been put into the food they threw out. It wasn't Daria's fault that her entire fourth grade class said they'd come to her birthday as a joke.

God, what a good joke.

"Isn't that Trent boy in that band?"

"Jane's brother?"

"Yes, the one who stayed with us. He seemed nice, if a little ah, vague." There was this edge to her voice, and her expression turned malevolent. "The cute ones normally are."

Daria felt the broccoli hit the back of her throat, whether through shock or upset.

"So you want to go out with Jane for your birthday?" Helen pressed on, oblivious to Daria's reaction.

Daria nodded, her arms formed around her tighter.

"Well, I certainly won't stop you. We can still have a family dinner, maybe a catch up with your aunts, and with your grandmother -- we'll make something happen." She smoothed her hands over her work attire, which still seemed freshly pressed.

Daria wanted to own up, to explain it was six hours away, but resisted. She could make a note, or claim that a lie of omission was permissible. Helen was a lawyer, after all, she had to know how to interrogate someone.

"Don't stay up too late, okay? You have school tomorrow."

"Thanks for the reminder." Daria watched as Helen left the room, her fingers in an idle wave. There was a distant jingle of her cell phone, and an ominous glow from her abandoned story. The ideas had slowed and stilled within her head, with her protagonist in the midst of a moral dilemma over what it meant to be a criminal compared to a spy.

Like beauty, guilt is in the eye of the beholder. Morals were communal but individual, and discourse formed where the Venn diagram thinned out. She saved the piece, for the sake of her sanity, and flopped onto her bed. It took a few recorded episodes of Sick, Sad World and a very long chapter of A Clockwork Orange , but she got to sleep.

Eventually.

...

Tuesdays were almost worse than Mondays. A Monday was reviled by all, and in turn, society went easier on you. And because society went easier on Monday, they had to push harder on a Tuesday, to catch up on all the work they'd gone easy on.

Suffice to say, Tuesday should be the day that everyone held in contempt, and yet Monday garnered the most disgust.

"Can anyone tell me what Aslan was an allegory for?"

"Ooh! Oooh, ooh!" Kevin stuck his hand into the air, which was moot. He had grunted the attention onto himself without the hand raise. "That is a trick question! Aslan was a tiger, not an alligator. Duh."

"Um, babe." Brittany chimed in to help, her lips pumped into a permanent pout. "I'm pretty sure he was a lion."

"He wasn't lying."

"No... I mean," Brittany giggled, to soften her anger. "It's named, like, the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, so..."

"Wait, who was the wardrobe?"

Mr. O'Neil stared at Daria with the tragedy of a hungry animal, desperate for food. In this instance, he sought her help, to answer the question. She remained silent, focused down on the notes she'd taken for her story. A discussion of the religious imagery in twentieth century literature had been her first grade pursuit.

Now, she was into the thought of how someone would cope with their tongue pulled out from their throat.

"God, someone help him." Jane whispered.

"Don't you mean Aslan?"

Jane smirked, her tongue poked out between her teeth. She had a sketch of O'Neil in a collar behind bars, like a dog up for adoption. There was a tiny sign that read 'free to a smart owner'. She covered it with her forearm when he began to pace, with gestures to the chalkboard.

The bell freed them with its off-key ring, and everyone made for the door. There was homework, the man-child called after them, but they would all forget to do it. Daria had finished it within class.

Five hundred words was not hard to hit.

"So..." Jane sung, low and graveled in her own way.

"La ti do?"

"Daria, c'mon." She pivoted on her heel, her bright red lips cracked into a wide smile. "Did you ask your mom?"

Daria cradled her books closer to her chest, nerves at her stomach. She had attended Mystik Spiral gigs in the past, but the thought of her birthday combined with it -- God, this was the issue. She didn't want to expect anything, but she had plenty already. Where words failed her once more, she nodded, a flicker of a smile.

"And? We good to go?"

"Yeah." Daria smiled now, wrapped up in the excitement despite her internal protest. "I think she's just happy I have a friend."

"Friends! Trent and the guys think you're cool."

"That could be a good band name." Daria said back, with a roll of her eyes. "I'm so glad I'm finally cool. My life's work come to fruition."

"Come to fruition would also be a good band name." Jane crooned, her expression as devious as Daria had ever seen it.

"First the collar on O'Neil, now this? You've changed, Lane."

"Or I've become more myself -- damn, why aren't I the struggling musician? I'm full of lyrical gold."

"Start with one struggling art career, then move onto the next." Daria sighed, as if the advice were obvious. "I'm gonna go onto struggling glass blower next."

The pair stopped at each of their lockers, which were only a short distance from one another. They had tried to move closer, for sake of ease, but Daria had lost out to a freshman with meaty forearms. She leaned against the lockers, her head rocked back and her chin pointed to the artificial lights.

"Were you gonna mention how Trent drove you home, or is that a big ol' secret?"

Daria snapped her attention onto Jane, who was half-buried within her locker. She had her hair tied back into pigtails, strands out by her eyes but otherwise -- fine? There was no anger on her face, not that Daria could see.

"I didn't think it mattered."

Jane continued to work through her books and binders, each one placed with careful attention. Usually Jane tossed things into her locker with no regard, but she seemed more focused on order. She worked through all the paper and pieces, with the occasional pencil or pen out onto the floor.

After she seemed satiated with the order of things, she grabbed the locker door. She hung there for a long moment, like she was about to speak, but instead smiled to Daria. "Be nice to him, okay?"

"When am I not nice?"

"I just mean -- don't... I don't know, Trent was excited about this whole birthday thing for you, with the Spiral gig, I don't know." Jane babbled through her words, her knuckled whitened. "I care about you both, and I want you both to be happy, but I know how you both are, too. He's floaty and you're -- "

Daria leaned forward, as if to encourage the description. "Mean? Rude? Honest? Blunt?"

Jane shrugged, teeth bared in a half-smile. "You get tetchy around your birthday, so don't take it out on him, or me, or anyone. Just, be cool, okay?"

Daria rolled her eyes, where a strain formed at one corner.

"I'm not trying to be an asshole here, I'm just saying, we're gonna have fun, and we're -- "

"Yep, you're really doing this for me, I'll make sure you both have a great time." Daria threw this out of the corner of her mouth as she stepped away towards the bathroom, her shoulders squared and her head dipped down.

God, imagine if Daria acted like herself for her birthday, how awful would that be. She stepped into the innermost stall, the one that had the attached toilet lid. She kicked it down with the toe of her boot to sit on, her legs draw up to her chest.

There was silence for a long moment, her arms formed around her knees. And it remained silent, longer than she thought it would. Each breath was slow and focused, as she thought over Jane and Helen. And, vaguely, of Trent. And Tom. And all the people in her life who had left her because of who she was, as she wore on them like the sea does on land.

Every so often someone would enter and exit, but they weren't Jane. The gait was notable, as she wore the same heavy boots as Daria.

It frustrated her, because in truth, she wanted to enjoy her birthday. Imagine that, a birthday where she sung and danced and ate and enjoyed herself. She had spent too many birthdays alone, with a token call from one of her relatives who'd been prompted by her mother.

It had been years since she'd had a party, as she had convinced her mother to stop with the flagellation of forced invitations. Not all of her parties were empty, as either Quinn invited people too, or people would come for the food.

God, this sucked.

There was a flash where she put all of that onto herself, as if it was her fault that people were so against her, but she was too arrogant to wear that. She shrugged it off and let her feet hit the tiles. It had been twenty minutes, or so said the clock on the wall outside the bathroom.

"Daria, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine."

Jane had been leaned outside the bathroom door, inclined towards it but hesitant to enter. She looked away as Daria swiped at her face, her aggression centered on a group of passersby. "I didn't mean you're rude or -- or whatever. I was stupid, I don't know."

"No, you're protective of your brother. Given my track record, that's fair."

Jane sunk a fraction, her expression sadder than Daria liked to see it. "Dunno, he seemed just -- I shouldn't, like, pry or whatever, but he seemed bummed last night, and he said he'd given you a lift home -- "

"I wasn't as enthusiastic about the gig as either of you." Daria said, simple and straight. "I don't like to get my hopes up, and I don't like to feign optimism. I think it could be a good night, but I'm not gonna put all my heart into it."

Jane looked over Daria, lips tugged to one side. "I know you Daria, so I don't know why... I just figured you'd be excited to spend time with Trent." Jane raised a hand before the other could speak, teeth bared once more. "I know! I know, don't yenta or whatever. It wasn't my intent."

Daria simmered down, her arms crossed once again. "Sorry for running off."

"You did what you had to." Jane shrugged. "Birthdays aren't your thing, and I kinda called you a bitch, which wasn't what I meant, but y'know -- let's go get lunch."

"Sounds good." Daria sighed, out of relief more than anything else.

"Seriously though, you two can't have some weird quasi-breakup thing like what he does with Monique."

"Well shucks, way to go ruin my fun." Daria deadpanned, lip curled with distaste.


	3. zine scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just Live for Daria and her family. Given the rest of this little story will (should?) be focused on Daria and the actual gig, I wanted to ensure there was a decent portion dedicated to Daria and her family. I could have made this chapter it's own thing entirely, for all the potential exchanges, but the reality is that not every conversation is able to be had to its fullest. Sometimes you can only get so much across to someone else, with the rest subtextual and subtle.

“Daria,” a voice grated, O’Neil it’s source. “Can I have a word, ah, if I may...”

“Iguana.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow.” The nervous chuckle from O’Neil only made Daria frown. She tamped back a full-body flinch at the sound.

“You asked for a word.” Daria hoisted the strap of her backpack higher, her eyebrow raised at him. Her attention shifted to Jane, who had her folio under her arm. She wasn’t keen to hang around with it, not with the size of it.

“Oh. No. No, I had a specific thing that I needed to speak with you about. A, ah, it's a rather exciting opportunity, really.”

“Okay, well, I gotta go to the art room so -- I'll meet you at your locker, Daria.”

Before Daria had the chance to beg Jane to stay, the raven-haired betrayer was gone. She watched the Docs flash out of sight, and her attention settled back onto O’Neil. He seemed cautious but enthusiastic, and she wanted to barf.

“Can we talk then Daria? A quick rap session, if you will.”

There was no shift in Daria’s expression. For some reason that equated to consent, which was a whole other moral issue. She felt cornered between her desk and Mr O'Neil, who had a wild look on his face.

“You've been asked to contribute to an exciting zine -- or ah, magazine. Do you know about zines Daria?”

“Are we talking free press of the 17th-century french aristocracy or the princess in leather?”

“No, not Xena, though she is quite a, ah… Anyway! A rather prestigious zine, based in New York has reached out to Lawndale!” He handed her a flyer booklet, though it was only a series of pages stapled together. It looked handmade and rushed, though held charm in its offset print style.

“Isn't the point of a zine to be independently published by a small group, rather than backed and encouraged by big business.” Daria paused, her brow furrowed. “I don’t think prestige and grassroots mesh together.”

“The point was, that… Well, they want to use your essay, the one you did about religion within children's literature.”

“Dare I ask how they saw it.”

“As part of attendance to this school, your work is freely distributed to the appropriate locations by Ms Li’s word.” The rhetoric was spouted without thought, and Daria could sense how practiced it had become. How many times had that been said in court? “In fact, all of your English work has been sent out since you arrived. It's in the school charter.”

“I see.” Daria smiled, though it lacked warmth. “Does this mean it was rejected every other time?”

“Not rejected, no, no...” O'Neil worried his hands together, shoulders hunched. “Just, not accepted. But isn't this exciting, you’ll be published interstate before you’ve even left high school. That’s a pretty big achievement, Daria.”

Daria hiked her bag up on her shoulder, the slow turn of her stomach enough to spur her away. It didn’t _feel_ like an achievement.

“Well, you have until the end of the month to accept the offer. There's no downside here Daria, it's all up, up, up!”

Funny how up, up, up could feel so down, down, _down_.

Once out in the hall, she began to leaf through the pages of the zine, Block’d. Some were worthy of cringe while others gained a smirk from her. She had heard of zines before, she’d picked up a few, but they weren't an active choice of publishing. She'd nabbed a few from the Zon, where people had made lyric books and poetry.

They were free and offered Daria a night of amusement. It was fun to poke through the insides of other peoples’ heads, and sometimes she’d even stumble onto a work by Trent. She kept those, for the sake of posterity.

But this? It was somewhere in New York and important. Important, prestigious... That's what O'Neil had said. This was a world away from the Zon, with people like her who would pick it up and pull her words apart. She couldn't imagine her work snatched up from her and taken to a different state, though that was how books worked, right?

And it was an opinion piece at best, supported with parts of Narnia.

Hell, parts of it had even been lifted from the book reports she had written in her elementary school days. It wasn’t _good_ work, it wasn’t even _okay_ work. She had only turned it in for the requirement, though her grades reflected no shift in quality. So when she tried, she got As. When she phoned it in, she got published in New York.

This is what people liked? Some tripe she'd written in her single digits?

God. She shoved the zine into her backpack, to rest against her locker.

The papers went unmentioned to Jane, who would only insist that she go with the zine to get a free trip to New York. While Daria admired her passion for exploitation, she failed to see the gain for her. She could let everyone know that she’d published some school assignment and receive a few pats on the head.

Who the hell would care?

The end of the week had slammed into Daria, with little shift in tone. Each day she palmed the papers, and each day she ignored them. She had til Thursday to give O’Neil her answer, and so she would just not speak about it. He’d get the picture, he’d move on.

Right?

Friday night was quiet, and for that Daria was thankful. Helen had gone out to dinner for a work appointment and Jake had followed in step. Quinn said she’d be home early, so she didn’t expect to see Quinn until the next morning. This left her in the quiet, alone, her hands-free across her keyboard.

In her lack of expectations, she was still disappointed. She had expected Helen to chase her down with bunting and for Quinn to hound her ankles. They both seemed content to let her sit, quiet and alone on the night before her birthday. There was no demand for a family dinner, and there was no forced outing.

Daria worried her hands together, to warm them up against the cool of her room.

It was fine, really. She hadn’t wanted them to fuss anyway. That was the whole point. That was why she wanted to go out the next night, to have a party -- or, no, she was out to avoid her family. The family that was happy to avoid her.

Good.

The night brought little in the way of words, save for a story about Dolores Haze. It was born out of the urge to write a horror mixed with a thriller and wound up as a character study of a victim instead.

Any writer must hope to obscure themselves behind the character and their experiences, so the audience may draw in the most genuine account -- or the writer must deceive the audience if the character is so inclined.

And then it was morning, _the_ morning.

Silence.

Daria blinked back the sunlight, her head angled on her pillow in a terrible way. She had a book in hand, one she had clung to throughout the night. Her thumb had marked the page with heat and pressure, now indented at the spine for life.

The room was silent, the house was silent… She woke each year to her mother’s giggles and a song, a testament to her slow death. Maybe that was too morbid. Probably.

But Daria dressed in this silence, she snatched her glasses onto her face and things remained unchanged. Her floor was still a respectable mess, her door was still closed. She stepped out into the hallway, the same silence -- except there was a clatter in the kitchen.

It had to be nine, or ten. She trod down the stairs, aware that she’d slept far beyond the normal.

At the kitchen table was her father, newspaper in hand, and Quinn by his side. Her mother bustled around, with a phone against her shoulder and a grating squawk in her voice. Everything was in order, though she felt no different.

But why should she, it’s only her birthday.

“Morning kiddo,” Jake greeted, a smile offered to his daughter. “Happy birthday.”

Daria smiled, unsure. “Thanks.”

Quinn grunted something past her skim milk, her eyes heavy from a lack of sleep.

“Did you guys all get in late or…”

“Ah, that damn Eric,” Jake began, the paper ruffled between his hands. “He turned up two hours late ‘cause his dog was sick, and then we had to stay even later because of a collision on the highway -- it was a mess Daria, a damn _mess_.”

Helen made a sound from the counter, her eyes wild at Jake.

“Mess… mazing… Amazing night,” he tried to correct, but he bore the same worn eyes as Quinn. They all seemed worse for wear, while Daria had slept soundly. She snatched a piece of toast from the center of the table, unaffected by how cold it was.

“And you Quinn?”

“I plead a fifth.”

“That’s _the_ fifth.”

“Oh, I know what I meant.” Quinn laughed in a cruel way. “Joey and Jeffy got into a fight, and then that other… Juan? Whatever, he got involved, and then it was the whole thing because Jeffy went with Sandy to go get Tiffany and Alice, and Alice was like… Totally not -- “

“I get it.”

“I know, right!” Quinn squealed, her hands covered her face. “I was stuck out till like, three in the morning and it was so gross, my makeup had like, baked onto my face.”

“Wait, three?” Helen cut in, though the distance remained. Her hand was against the mouthpiece of her phone, her shoulders squared as she watched her daughters.

“It… Felt, like three.” Quinn corrected. “It’s an expression, mom. Right, Daria?”

Daria met Quinn’s eye, though for a fleeting instant she felt pity for the girl. She nodded, though not before she gave a significant narrow of her eyes to Quinn. “Totally.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Helen returned to the mix-and-match conversation on the phone, where it felt more like jargon slung around for the sake of noise. She had an omelet in the works, which made Daria’s single slice of toast look like a tragedy.

“Thanks,” Quinn said, her voice gentle. “Happy birthday, Daria.”

Daria felt the strangest seize in her throat, a smile tugged at her lips. “This ‘cause you get the house to yourself on a Saturday night?”

“Duh,” Quinn grinned. “I hate to say it, but I owe you.”

Daria shook her head, unsure what had come over her family. It was a mix of the old, the disinterested air around her birthday, but Quinn seemed to notice. Her father had, too. It only left Helen on the phone, but that was a staple of her childhood. She got it; it kept the roof over her head and her book collection plentiful.

“Okay, thanks Eric, bye Eric -- bye Eric.” Helen hung up, a loud exhale passed through the air before her. She leaned forward, her hands clasped to the counter, her head dipped low. The posture remained as power mantras slipped between her lips, and Helen was back upright.

“You good mom?” Daria asked, vacant as she chewed at her toast.

Helen approached with her arms extended, to wrap around Daria’s head. She hugged her close, her hands on Daria’s cheeks and the maternal plush of chest and stomach against Daria’s back and head. She felt trapped in the embrace, but it lingered for only a few seconds.

“Okay, are you dying?”

“Maybe,” Helen said in a dry voice. “No, just, what your father said. It was a disaster, and I’m -- happy birthday Daria, I am so sorry. We all had a late start, we didn’t have a chance to do a breakfast for you, or anything special.”

Daria offered a smile to her mom, surprised at how genuine it felt. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, yes it is a big deal! You’re eighteen, you’re a legal adult in some countries, this is a big, big deal.” She bustled away to finish off the omelet, only to slide it onto the table before Daria. It had bacon and herbs mixed into it, cheese and sausage, a mix of delicious food.

“Um, thanks.”

“No, don’t worry, I was going to bring it up to you, but…” Helen sighed again, her hands framed on her head. “It’s only nine and I am already about to go back to bed. What is this weekend, honestly.”

Daria tried not to impress the fact this weekend was her birthday; everyone was busy, and she would be out for it.

“I was gonna pack my stuff and head to Jane’s at ten. Could I get a lift? I’m gonna have a bag.”

Helen stilled, as did Jake. There was a moment of exchange, of eye contact and emphatic head tilts. Quinn took it upon herself to leave, a wiggle of her fingers sent to Daria as she left. The flash of red hair left her alone with her mom and dad, and the strange silence that had risen.

“So,” Helen made a few low sounds in her throat. “We need to talk.”

“You’re not gonna let me go.”

“No! No, not… Well, we are,” Jake looked to Helen, as if to beg her for something.

“Fine, go, I’ll do this on my own, as always.”

Jake, who would defend himself on every point, shot out of the kitchen like lightning.

Helen took the spot by Daria, her hands folded and the face of a lawyer upon her. She steepled her fingers, and the near-black expression let on where Daria had spawned from. There was silence between them, all until Helen reached across to touch Daria’s shoulder.

“You aren’t in a sexual relationship with Trent, are you?”

“If we are, that would be news to me.” Daria stilled her hand on the fork, her brow furrowed.

“And not with Jane?”

“Mom, what the hell.”

“Look, I just -- if you’re going to, that’s fine, I’m fine with that, but you’re going to go and -- you’re staying with them, in a different city.” Helen looked older in that moment, her hand returned to the table between them. She toyed with the ring on her finger, the one Jake had gotten her years ago no doubt. “It’s going to be exciting, and it’s your birthday…”

“I’ve stayed at Jane’s plenty. I don’t wanna have sex with either of them.” Daria mouthed a few confused curse words, brows knit together as she tried to catch the train of thought Helen was on.

“I want to make sure you’re safe and happy and you’re doing what you want, not what your peers want.”

Daria dug her nails into her palm, unsure where all this newfound concern popped up from. She had stayed at the Lane family home more than once, she could have slept with either of them more times than she could have counted. Why was there this concern now?

“I’m not going to stop you from going, but I just want you to know, bands, they just… A girl can get lost in a man’s voice and fail to hear what he’s really saying.”

“That was… Weirdly profound, mom.”

Helen gave her a unimpressed look, only to stroke at Daria’s hair with a gentle touch. “I worry, that’s all. I want you to have a good birthday for once. We try, we try so hard Daria, but what you want and what I want don’t always match up. You’ll be in college soon, I know, and I just… I want to see a photo of you smiling on your birthday for once.”

“Mom, I know, I’m -- I can get a photo for you. How about that?”

Helen seemed taken aback, but kept herself together. “I’d like that. Get the band to sign it,” she added with a mirthful smile.

“If they can spell it. I think it’s two _whys_.”

“Yes, why are they on stage and why are they so terrible -- “ Helen’s hand snapped to her mouth, a low giggle fell out from between her fingers. “I’m sure they’re lovely.”

Daria smirked back, a flash of teeth as she found more and more of herself within her mother. Or, more of her mother within her. She finished the omelet without much further conversation, aware that for once she’d be away from her family for most of her birthday.

The Spiral had to drive five hours to the gig, and it started at seven. That left them a few hours of flex room, and Daria didn’t want to be the reason they failed to arrive on time.

  
It wasn’t until she arrived on the Lane doorstep that she realized what she had signed up for.


End file.
